Ponderings on Community & Peace

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Monthly Archives: June 2008

In spite of myself, I will one day emerge from beneath this pile of rubbish, so I extend my hand, fingers barely breaking the surface, I sense air touching them. I feel other fingers touching mine, seeking to grasp my hand and pull me up, my hand retreats. Why do I choose to remain buried? Is it not yet time to emerge? What do I fear? Is fear the right word?